It was a war zone in which they lived. Our convys had to stay away from the sides of the roads and potholes because that's where the IEDs were. But there were so many potholes they were impossible to avoid. The roads were in such disrepair they would not pass for Farm to Market roads in my native Texas. County maintenance crews would be ashamed for those roads to be in their precincts.
Buildings lay in ruins and no one was eager to rebuild them when life required so much energy just to survive. The smell of sewage was prevalent in some cities where infrastructure had been targeted or had long been in disrepair under the rule of a selfish despot. Heaps of smoking trash the size of 18-wheelers were a common site.
I travelled all over the huge airbase that I was assigned to maintain. It was built by Saddam and looked as those he had been given building plans from the USSR for they looked as I imagined a stark military base would have looked in the old Soviet Block. Each building was concrete, square, no ornamentation except that which the soldiers painted on the walls to break up the lack of joy. I drove for miles and miles around that perimeter road, observing the bombed out tanks and rusting hulks of aircraft scattered about the dessert. The base was some of the nicest construction anywhere around and even it was a spirit crusher.
Eupohoria of the Ordinary
I say all that to set you up for this. When I returned home from that bleak landscape it was a surreal experience. We flew into Shannon, Ireland at a pre-dawn hour for a short layover. It quite literally hurt my eyes to look out the plane's portholes to see the Emerald Isle - it was so green it was like looking into a bright light even without the sun being up. The stone walls neatly weaved across the countryside all in what seemed like perfect repair. The airport was modest by our standards; maybe like a municipal airport in a secondary market. But to us it was grand. It was the first polite civilization we had seen since leaving the desert. The duty-free shops sold trinkets and objects that seemed both opulent and unnecessary.
Then we flew into New York. As we circled the City, looking down on the sprawling accomplishments of civilization with its bright glass towers and tasteful masonry work, its landmark bridges and its throng of vehicles, our chaplain had the flight crew play "They Come to America" over the PA system. That cheesy song and the sight of the Big Apple brought tears to my eyes. I wasn't yet home but still I was home. The size, grandness and wealth of the city struck me. The airport was well appointed compared to where I had been and the surly customs agents were as welcoming as a family hug.
By the time I made it back home to my wife I was almost in a state of euphoria. There would not be a puddle-jumper flight to my local airport until later in the afternoon but I had arrive in Houston midmorning. I could not wait so I spent the money on a rental car. It turned out to be a wonderful decision. I drove home through wooded areas and rolling hay pastures along Highway 6 in the Spring. The beauty of our country was enchanting. So green. So alive. Why had I not seen this before?
I pulled up to our one bedroom apartment in a 40-year-old, stucco-clad development that we had only just barely accepted because it was what we could afford for a young married couple going to college. It was magnificent. My sweet wife was standing on the porch ready to greet me. Her clothes and face were clean, bright and smooth. Her skin was not thick and weathered and she smelled sweet instead of bearing the stench of the cities in Iraq. What a remarkable contrast. I was in heaven.
For several weeks after I returned home I walked through life in a state of awe and wonder with a silly grin plastered on my face. My experience in a war zone had gifted me with an appreciation that almost certainly few other experiences could award. No longer did I have to be on guard every moment of day and night (which I had not realized I was until I no longer had to) but the wealth of our country which had previously gone unnoticed by me was not so glaringly obvious that I gazed at it in amazement. We went to a Mexican food restaurant to meet with some friends. I was so overwhelmed by all the colors, smells, soft textures, rich food, and smiling faces that I could hardly speak. Our friends could tell there was something strange about me and would inquire what was wrong. I could not put it into words then because in the midst of it I did not understand what was happening. I was truly appreciating everything we have in America.
Gratitutde is A Virtue
The Christian model teaches for a man to be content with what he has while simultaneously working hard to care for his needs and those of his family. Balance is hardwired into this model but it is all too true that the simplicity of the mind of man causes him to focus on one or the other platforms of the scale while neglecting the other. For example, selfishness (which is also a default setting in man) may cause a Christian to focus on the hard work to the exclusion of charity, which is no religion at all.
To Train Your Children:
Remind your children who are discontented with their clothes, the electronics and their house that even the poorest in our nation are wealthy on the world stage. They must appreciate their position or stand to either be discontented with such a posh life or to lose it altogether out of national apathy. It strikes me by way of observation that the default setting in man is discontentment. No matter his status, riches, or poverty, he grows accustomed to his appointment. That means that his view of material contentment starts from the baseline of his rearing, then changes over time to his adolescent years and then into adulthood. No matter how wealthy, a child can be discontented with his possessions when he is not taught to be grateful either by his parents or by life. Appreciation is something that must be earned. For the average boy, it is his own personal hardship that will achieve appreciation. For the wise boy, it may only require the observation of hardship in the lives of others to achieve it.
Help your children to appreciate their status in life. Take them to the poor side of town - every town has one. Have them intently look upon the lives that are lived in this place and the neglect this position in life renders. This happened for me at the age of 12 when my family made a trip into Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. Two lives were lived by the same people on each side of the Rio Grande. Do not let this be a short excursion nor let your children look away. Tears of your child at this point are a precursor to gratefulness. Do not let them feel as though the poor in our nation are repressed. Explain the opportunity that is available to all of us through hard work and discipline. Explain also that it may take generations for a mindset of poverty to be overcome so that he habits of the inhabitants are toward personal industry rather than collective dejection. Explain also that poverty may be a cruel inevitability for the lame, the mentally stunted, and the uneducated. For God does not call mankind to be wealthy but to be content. Then explain the imperative of charity to aid the helpless, the necessity of education, and the virtues of industry. If your child does not immediately become contemplative look upon his own possessions with gratefulness, then either you have not spent enough time with your child in these places, you have not sufficiently explained the realities of life, or you have waited until you child is too old and calloused to be touched with the plight of his fellow man. Pray you are not too late.
If you accomplish in guiding your child to appreciation, gratitude and humility you will have achieved one of the greatest feats attainable for a parent. For this is a sacred virtue.
